Gardening

My knees push against the warm grass, rocking back and forth with the exertion of digging. Today is a little chilly, but the comforting sun heats my back and arms. I miss you.

The newly thawed ground feels good in my hands as I pat it down around the impatient I just planted. My back aches in reward for my efforts, but it is a good ache, the kind that comes from hard work and dedication. This physical work helps shake off the winter lethargy that settled over me since… well, you know. I still miss you.

The smell of flowers reminds me of last spring. It was our first spring in this house, remember? God, it was such a pit then, but we loved it. We saved for years to buy it, then saved for another year just to pay to fix parts of it. That first officially nice spring day, so like today, was beautiful. It demanded our attention like the children we wanted. I welcomed it with my spring hat. You laughed as I strolled outside in my work clothes and that absurd floppy hat, an obviously fake sunflower pinned to the front.

“What on earth is that for?” you asked, still laughing.

I struck a pose, sticking my nose up like any good supermodel. “Why, to keep the sun off my delicate skin, daaahling,” I replied. Grinning wickedly, you stole my hat and ran. I chased you all around our bright green yard, demanding the return of the most beloved hat. We fell into the soft grass, still with the fresh, not yet mowed feel. Remember? You yelped because unlike in the movies, the grass was wet and the mud was soaking into your clothes. I found it unbearably hilarious, for some reason, and you couldn’t even pretend to be mad. Still laughing, you helped me cart my zillions of flowers over to the largest flowerbed and then returned to the fence you were painting. I hummed, terribly out of tune, along with your whistling, and we worked in companionable silence.

God, sometimes even breathing is hard.

The spring smell is so good. It’s got that summer sun smell, with the metallic smell of winter. You know, I have the windows open again. Remember last year, even though it dropped down into the thirties at night, I kept them open? Despite your teasing, they remained open. And you froze for me. I never told you how much I appreciated that.

The wild daffodils surrounding the tree have been in bloom for a little over a week. I still wish I could pick them and put them in a vase, but I know you wouldn’t like that. “Things last longer in nature, without our damn
preservatives,” you used to say. You always were a tree-hugger. Do they have flowers where you are?

It’s so quiet here compared to our little apartment in the city. I cannot even hear the cars from here. Actually, my terrible singing is one of the only things I can hear, but that could be because I’m so obnoxiously loud. It’s like a flashback to the 50’s with the children laughing and riding bikes, and people mowing their lawns and sitting on the porch. Down the street, Sara’s little girls giggling and screaming as they play. Sara came over last Wednesday when her kids were in school. I wasn’t catering that day, so we spent the afternoon on the front porch, relaxing before the school bus demanded her attention. We talked and laughed, as I haven’t done in a while. It was like some soccer-mom moment, but I enjoyed it. She invited me to a small party, and with some misgivings I accepted. In my normal haughty cook fashion, I offered to make something, and she asked what my specialty was. Without thinking, as of course is my true specialty, I said, “Chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.” I made them for the first time since the fall yesterday. I cried into the batter the whole time.

Boy, I am tired. I need someone to work out the kinks in my back, but no one is here, so I have to make do with a lawn chair and a cool glass of lemonade.

Thanks to your meticulous work, the fence does not need a new coat of paint this year. I think you would’ve been mad if it did. Last year it was your Mona Lisa. I had to hire someone to mow the lawn and trim the hedges for me this year. Luckily, the teenager down the street is looking for a bit of cash. Even more fortunately, his mom took pity on me and made him charge me a minimal sum. Still… I wish you could do it instead.

Your sister called last night. She wanted me to go with her to a barbeque next weekend. That boy I told you about, Sam, he’ll be there, and Janie wants someone with her in case he doesn’t ask her out. She’ll be graduating from college this year, and she tells me all the time how much she wishes that you’d be there. Lately, she’s been helping me a lot, her and your mom. They drop by unannounced all the time, “just to say hi.” I don’t know what I’d do without your family.

The sun is getting lower, though it’s still bright out. It’s so nice to have the sun out until about 8:00. Darkness at 4:30 really was depressing, and this winter I didn’t need any help with depression. I still make dinner, even though it’s only me. Making dinner for one is so lonely, but it gives me something to do. Besides, I’m gaining enough weight, and I need to be healthy. I like to make your favorite dishes, but some days it’s so hard. Thursday night I made myself a pan of homemade brownies and a bowl of fettuccini alfredo. I spent that night watching all of the Anne of Green Gables movies. I really missed you Thursday.

A cloud rolls over the setting sun, convincing me that I’m done for today. Standing up with twins inside me is not easy, I tell you. My new navy blue Jeep Cherokee sits in the garage, and buddy, am I proud of it. I wanted a more responsible car than the old beat up two-door I had, but I couldn’t sign myself over to a minivan yet. The spot where your car used to be still has stains on it, which I’ve tried to hide by parking the jeep in the center. God, you loved that convertible more than me, I think. If it were possible to have an affair with a car, I would have been insanely jealous. I felt like I was betraying you by selling it, isn’t that ridiculous?

There was so much I wanted to say to you last week. I knew I shouldn’t have been driving when I’m this pregnant, but I needed to see you and I couldn’t bring myself to ask someone to drive me. Not even Janie. There was almost no room between the steering wheel and my stomach. I’m sure you would have found it rather amusing, but the baby sandwich placed well-aimed kicks at my kidneys in protest. Thank god for moveable seats!

I wished I could drive like a madwoman, but my own common sense and a feeling that you would be slightly more than upset if I did force me to slow down. I made it 30 weeks into pregnancy without any huge mishaps with my body, and I didn’t plan on getting in an accident just because I was in a hurry.

I checked my purse to make sure I had the paperwork and drove painfully cautious. The man at the gate demanded my license and VO. You know, I understand he was just doing his job, but really. He was so rude. I nearly told him off, but bit the inside of my lower lip. I knew he didn’t care, nor should he, so I just took my papers back without a word and a tight smile and drove on. I still find it hard to believe you survive here, caged and fenced in. I didn’t want to be late, but I needed a second, so I stayed in the car, checking my lipstick and tugging at my shirt. I felt so vain picking an outfit to visit you, but I remembered the tacky wives in all those Law & Order shows we watched, and I wanted to convince everyone that we were not some run-of-the-mill criminal couple. Would you believe it took me ten minutes to open the door and get out of the car?

I still don’t think I’ll ever get used to waiting for doors to open for me, or having to show my drivers license every time I enter a room, but I’d do it if I could just see you. I finally made it to the visitors room and was directed to a chair to wait for you. As always when I saw you in the orange jumpsuit, tears filled my eyes. I wiped them away quickly, but I know you saw them anyways. I wanted to hold your handcuffed hands in my own, wishing we were anywhere but there, sitting in a tacky booth with a window between us. We picked up the phones.

“Hey, Red,” you said softly. My nickname spilling from your lips knocked the tears from my eyes. God, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry this time. I wouldn’t ruin the visit because I couldn’t control my own tears. But this just wasn’t right. Still, you had a comforting smile. “No worries, babe.”

For your sake, I sniffed back my tears and smiled. “How are they treating you? Should I have Cam pull a few strings for you?” I asked, when I really wanted to scream, “Why are you here?”

“It’s fine, for a jail.” I winced at the word. “How’s the weather in the real world?”

“Spring is just about here,” I said, trying to lightly spin the word. The flash of pain in your eyes hit me like the kicks I was receiving inside. Unable to talk about the world outside, I asked, “When are closing arguments?”

“By the end of next week, I think. You did a good job on the stand the other day,” you said softly, your hard brown eyes not leaving mine. I nodded. My white knuckles kept the telephone from shaking, while I allowed my hand in my lap to shake.

“It was a little nerve-wracking.”

You gave me a small smile, just for me. “You did what was right.”

“Telling the truth is always right,” I agreed. Your smile faltered, but just slightly.

“Derrick’s mom testified Monday,” you said. I moved my hand around my stomach to calm the shaking.

“Oh?” I asked. “Was she obnoxious?”

You shrugged, but you wiped your palm on your shirt. “She cried a lot, but she didn’t point at me and curse me or anything. Jon was real careful with her. Didn’t want to sound like a jerk to the victim’s mom, you know?”

“He’s a talented lawyer.” I liked Jon. He was very thorough, very good at what he did, and most importantly, he believed every word we said. “How was your day on the stand?”

“I was a little nervous, but I just told it how it was. Just like you did. Just told the truth.” You switched the phone to your other hand and wiped it on your shirt.

“She called me, you know.”

“Who?” you asked.

“His mom.”

“Mmm, and what did you ladies chat about?”

“About that night.”

“And you said…?”

“The truth, of course. But she was driving me crazy. She kept referring to him as ‘a boy.’” I looked at my shoes. “Just a boy.”

“That boy came at you with a knife,” you whispered, as if I needed reminding. I glanced at the clock, surprised that we only had two minutes left. I put my hand on the glass in front of me, wishing it were gone. Your hand pushed on the glass, but I couldn’t feel the pressure. You smiled, but not with your eyes.
“I’ll see you next week,” you said confidently.
“I’ll be there for the closing arguments.”

Leaning in, you whispered, “I love you.”

I smiled, more for anyone who might be looking than for you. “I love you too.”

You know I’m not very religious, but I’ve been bargaining like a car salesman with God lately. I even promised to name the children names directly from the Bible, like Mary and Joseph, if He would just favor us one more time. Who knows? Maybe if He helps us out, I’ll stick to my promise for once.

The last of the closing arguments are tomorrow, and your parents, my mom, Aunt Mae, and Janie and I will all be there. Janie’s driving me because she knows that I can’t drive myself and also that if I’m in the car with her, she won’t be allowed to smoke. You’d be so proud of her for quitting. I’m not sure that I’ll sleep tonight, knowing tomorrow is The Day.

The sun is close to the horizon now, and I’m really hungry after all that work. You know, I’m really in the mood for some chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies.